


Holiday Cheer

by epkitty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Early Work, Fluff, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Limericks, M/M, Out of Character, Pre-Slash, The most Pre of Pre-Slash, Valentine's Day, very vaguely Fifth-ish Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3113789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you ask Snape, holidays suck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday Cheer

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this quite a while back, and I think it shows. I find the Harry Potter world particularly difficult to write in, and this was a very minor success compared to many of my other attempts.
> 
> There are some minor edits (spelling, improved formatting, etc.) from the version that originally appeared on Ink Stained Fingers, and which was posted on 09/07/03.

Holidays were a time for food, good food rich in fat and sugar that were probably the worst things for you, food like fresh apple pie and homemade ice cream, basted turkey and the creamiest gravy, steamed vegetables and baked potatoes with dripping butter and plentiful with spices, mulled apple cider with a hint of cinnamon or freshly imported butterbeer from Wales. Holidays were a time for friends, near and far alike: bonding and laughing, playing and horsing around, and having the best of times. Holidays were a time for family, both those who are close and seen everyday and those who are rarely seen but equally loved, coming together in a time of happiness and joy, to know peace and good times. Holidays were a time for celebration, time to dance and sing, time to party and drink, time to gather together and share gifts, time to affirm life and take everything offered you.

Professor Severus Snape hated holidays.

It had been many years since he could find any simple pleasure in food.

It had been longer since he could recollect any gathering of friends.

He could not recall ever spending a happy moment with any family member.

And celebrations were pointless when their meanings had been forgotten and dark dangers loomed forever on the horizon.

In short, holidays were no fun without someone to share them with, and Severus Snape had no one.

"Holidays are a meaningless affair, and if I see one hint of pink or purple or red, one doily, one card, one ribbon, one heart, one flower, one chocolate, one smiling baby in a diaper, one single 'VALENTINE,' you will lose from your House ten points. If you must celebrate this ridiculous excuse for foolish camaraderie and pathetic charity cases, then do so on your own time and NOT in my classroom."

The first years, his first class of the day, were suitably cowed. Casey Cartwright tucked her first valentine ever away in her bag. Rebecca Southern scratched with animalistic fervor at her red-coated nails. The pink note Rupert Seymour had been showing off to his friend, Patrick Ellison, was quickly shoved into a pocket. Jessica Treible sorrowfully pulled the red ribbons from her pigtails. The flock of giggling Hufflepuffs in the corner quickly subdued themselves and the two whispering Ravenclaws jumped apart and to their places.

With order restored, the Potions Master began his lesson.

= = = = =

They'd only just had their first class of the day, but Harry and Ron were already whining about their after lunch class together on their way to Transfiguration, Hermione walking between them.

"Double potions with Snape on Valentine's Day!" Ron bemoaned.

Harry nodded soberly. "Did you SEE him at breakfast today?!"

Hermione had stopped trying to reason with her friends about their complaints and only just then saw their point, acknowledging, "He did seem rather..."

"Constipated?"

"Aggravated?"

"Somewhat angry?"

"Slightly neurotic?"

"A bit tense?"

"Or perhaps as though he was about-to-blow-a-gasket-at-all-the-pink-ribbons-and-raining-hearts-ready-to-kill-the-next-person-who-said-'Happy Valentine's Day'-and-generally-five-times-as-evil-as-usual?"

"Harry, you're exaggerating," Hermione sighed.

"I assure you, Miss Granger, he is not."

The three sixth-year Gryffindors halted, then slowly turned as one to find the very object of their foul fears glaring remorselessly down at them. "TO CLASS!" he bellowed.

The trio of friends fled down the hall and ran the rest of the way to their classroom.

= = = = =

His second class of the day, third-year Slytherins and Gryffindors, were far more prepared and were ready to face the wrath of their Potions Master. A little speech at the start of class reiterated just how he planned their time together to be spent.

Things were going well, as the class worked in pairs brewing a potion while the professor stalked between desks, pointing out forgetfulness, clumsiness, and the general stupidity of their potion-making, when a sudden squeal disrupted the almost calm atmosphere of murmuring students and blubbering cauldrons. Snape's head snapped around like a hawk's, but the Slytherins from which the sound had erupted were all studiously brewing their potions, careful not to look his way.

The class period was half over when stifled sniggering and muffled giggling came from a group of Gryffindors in the back of the room. Snape, at the fore of the class, again rounded on the sound, but no offender could be seen as the entire class dutifully attended their ingredients and fires, not a word passing between any of them.

As Snape saw them out the door at the end of the lesson, which seemed to not come soon enough for any of them, he watched closely and frowned as they filed out, laughing and whispering more than was usual.

= = = = =

"Is it just me, or is he even worse than usual?" Dean griped.

No one had to ask what he was talking about. Severus Snape sat in his place at the staff table at lunch, eyeing the pink tablecloth with a look of pure revulsion. The rest of the staff made a point to sit as far from the unstable Potions Master as possible.

"Definitely worse," Seamus agreed, nodding soberly.

When an unsuspecting house elf wrapped in red Hogwarts' tapestries and wearing false feathery wings danced along the table and offered him a chocolate on a golden platter, the poor thing had no idea what had hit her. First, a bowl of clam chowder came down over the ears and then a wiry tail was tied around the teakettle. White wings were ripped off and feathers floated down in an obscene snowfall. Everything after that was a blur, (and hours later, when she had been untransfigured from a pincushion back into herself by Professor McGonagall, she couldn't speak straight and had to take the rest of the week off due to 'emotional instability.' Never again would Dorkus the House Elf attempt to so much as blink while in the presence of Professor Severus Snape.)

"Undoubtedly worse," a white-faced Neville agreed upon witnessing the plight of poor Dorkus up on the table, her pin-stuffed plump frame hanging precariously from a silver teapot by a thin tail off the edge of the table.

"I wonder what's gotten to him this y-" Hermione began, but then was cut off by a sudden racket of laughter from the Slytherin table. Malfoy and a small herd of followers were gathered together, laughing heartily and pressing close, looking at something.

"What are they up to now?" Ron grumbled at their behavior, angrily stabbing an innocent salt potato.

"Something rotten," Harry murmured. "Let's just hope it doesn't involve us."

"I don't think that's it," Hermione commented, looking about the room.

Curiously, Harry, Ron, and Neville looked at the girl genius who surveyed the dining hall with painful attention. Following her gaze, they noted odd goings on indeed. Several groups of Hufflepuffs were nearly red with laughter, talking amongst themselves. Equally amused, though far more calm were a number of younger Ravenclaws, whispering to one another. At the Slytherin table, a near sort of mass hysteria had broken out as students were sending messages, both written and verbal, up and down the double line along the table. Most of the seventh year Gryffindors at the center of their own table were smiling smugly.

And every one of them, at one time or another, invariably turned their knowing glances to the staff table, to one individual in particular, who stalked out of the room, black robes billowing ominously behind him, gales of laughter following his passage.

= = = = =

"Did you hear what happened to Melissa Chatney?!"

"Yeah, but that's nothing; what about poor Rebecca? She's only a first year; she's still in the hospital wing."

"What did he do?!"

"Something nasty, that's for sure."

"I hear she's red: her skin, her hair, her robes, everything!"

"Well she should have known better than to wear something so blatantly festive in this classroom."

"Yeah, even first years should know that, after what happened at Christmas."

"And what about lunch? He was furious!"

"This can't be good..."

"What about Draco? And what's up with everyone; it's like there's a conspiracy or something?"

"You don't know?!"

"Know what?"

Next to Hermione, Neville cowered in his seat. Beside them were Harry and Ron at their section of table. The four carefully listened to the surrounding conversations, but there was no answer to the final question as the dungeon door closed with a resounding bang, sealing the sense of impending doom.

Stalking to the head of the class, an air of vicious wrath followed Snape like his swirling black robes to settle threateningly before them all. The professor glared hatefully down his nose at the class-Harry and Ron recognized 'Threatening Glare Number Three,' (the one that offered to take off points swiftly followed by bodily harm)-but to their astonishment, several giggles sounded behind them from the Slytherins. "I'm sure I've no idea what the lot of you have found so amusing today," Snape began. "But I am not going to tolerate it in my classroom. This is a place of learning, not for simpering teenage hormones. I hope I've made myself clear."

A few heads nodded confirmation and the rest stared blankly back. Snape curled his lip into a sneer before beginning the day's lesson.

= = = = =

Harry was dutifully measuring out the spider legs while Ron adjusted the flame's temperature when Harry happened to glance down the line of tables. Beside Hermione-who was engrossed with the ingredient list and mumbling to herself-was a red-faced Neville. The boy looked positively about to implode as a pale hand covered a wide smile. The other hand held a piece of paper that he was surreptitiously studying. Shoulders trembled with suppressed laughter as he obviously struggled not to make a sound.

Normally Harry would have leaned over to whisper, or at least poked Ron in the side, but the atmosphere in the dungeon was tense, to put it mildly, and Harry was taking no risks with Snape prowling the rows of desks with a hawk's eye.

Moments later, the spider legs and mugwort were simmering softly when Harry again looked down the row. The paper that Neville had found so humorous was now clutched in Hermione's white-knuckled grasp. She, too, covered her mouth, but she wasn't smiling. Lowering the parchment when she'd finished, Ron plucked it from her fingers, sharply whispering, "What IS that?!"

While Ron was busy reading, Harry covered for him, stirring the mixture and keeping an eye on Snape, who was chastising Dean at the back of the room.

Before long the note was shoved at Harry, who took it gingerly between two fingers, astonished at Ron's appearance. His freckled face was flushed red, clashing horribly with his copper hair. Tears streamed from eyes in his efforts to keep all the laughter in. He turned away, hiding his face and clutching his stomach.

Harry once more did a Snape-check, and finding him on the other side of the room, bent his head to survey the paper. 'Limerick to Snape...'

Harry's eyes bugged at the first verse.

By the second, breathing was considerably difficult.

By the third, he was near tears with laughter...

'There once was a teacher from Hogwarts   
Who was feeling most out of sorts,  
Because as they say,  
He was flaming gay  
And he had no suitable consorts.

The students all new his affliction  
Was maintained by unhealthy addiction  
Of causing pain  
To those in range  
Stories of his cruelty were all nonfiction

Not to mention the noncy git's face  
Which was a continued state of disgrace.   
Wild and untamed,  
Greasy hair framed  
An extremely large nose out of place.'

But, Harry never got to read the fourth verse.

"What is it, Mr. Potter, you've found so amusing that it has distracted you so from your seemingly unimportant potions assignment and lost you ten points from Gryffindor?"

Harry stared up, slack-jawed, at his professor. Of all the things to be caught with. He didn't hesitate or argue when Snape extended his hand. Harry barely lifted his own in response and Snape had snatched the paper from loosely clasped fingers. Normally, Malfoy would have made some obscene comment, normally there would be snickering from the Slytherin students, muffled whispers from fellow Gryffindors. But everyone knew what was on that paper. No one could imagine the resulting anger and punishment. But for the brewing cauldrons and licking flames, the dungeon was suddenly overcome by an eerily tense, terrified silence, as though waiting for the wave to break on the soundless shore of fear.

Small black eyes flitted over the paper. For uncomfortably long minutes Snape stood studying the page's contents. Finally, the paper was lowered to his side and those unreadable black eyes turned down to examine Harry like something he'd found at the bottom of a first-year's cauldron. When he spoke, the acid tones rumbled in a deathly warning pitch. "Where did you get this?"

Harry blinked and made a few gulping motions in his throat. He made no answer, not that he was capable of one at the moment, and tried to keep meeting that hateful gaze but could not prevent the small flicker as he glanced to Ron. Snape's eyes echoed the movement. "Potter. Weasley. See me after class."

Harry could almost hear the rest of the class breathe a collective sigh of relief. Had Harry the nerve to look about him, he would have seen the pitiful looks sent their way by the other students, especially Hermione, who gave Ron's arm a small squeeze of reassurance.

The rest of Potions crawled by with torturous sluggishness, marked by fear and threat. The students behaved perfectly-and lost several points for their trouble, both Gryffindor and Slytherin alike. Snape was calm, cold, and calculating, and far more controlled than usual, but the cool fire in dark eyes warned of a boiling temper beneath the rather detached exterior, and Harry feared he and Ron would receive the brunt of that concealed fury before the day was out.

But for the time being, all he could do was wait. Thank heavens he and Ron managed to brew a perfect first level blood purification potion, and received-oddly enough-no more criticisms from the Potions Master, who still kept an uncomfortably close eye on the duo. And though Neville lost five points out of terrified clumsiness, Hermione managed to save their potion as well.

In the end, the class filed out, silent but for a few Slytherin snickers. The door clanged shut. Harry had thought it was ominous the last time he'd heard it, two hours ago, but this was a hundred times worse.

Snape held the cursed paper before him, towering over Harry and Ron, who were still seated at their now pristinely clean desks. Snape looked back to the paper, rereading the obscene limerick. Several times he opened his mouth, but then quickly shut it. He seemed at a loss for where to start, which worried Harry and Ron to no end. They'd never seen Snape speechless before and they conveyed their fright to one another in flitting, worried glances.

Finally, the man composed himself and when he spoke, the sneering tones were cold as ice and terribly formal. "Who's is this?"

Ron only shrugged, eyes fixed firmly on their tabletop, but Harry managed to meet the man's malevolent stare and form a coherent answer. "I don't know, sir."

This did not go over well. Snape wanted answers and he wanted them now. "Who WROTE this?!" he reworded the question and stated it with somewhat more vehemence. Ron and Harry shared confused, fearful looks. "We don't know, sir," Harry answered again.

Nearly growling now came the next question. "Then how did it come to be in your possession?"

Harry could only shrug helplessly and this time it was Ron to shoulder the Gryffindor bravery. "It was being passed amongst the students. Harry was the unlucky one to get caught."

"And you had it first. Why did you not turn this piece of filth in to me at once?"

Fearful but honest blue eyes met Snape's threatening gaze. "Honestly Professor, I may try to embody Gryffindor courage, but I'm not insane. Sir, no one in their right mind would willingly be caught with a note of that sort under any circumstances."

To Ron's surprise, Snape's weary answer was only, "Very astute, Mr. Weasley. And you, Potter? You know nothing of this?"

"No sir," Harry answered, surprised to see some great weariness and acceptance in his teacher's suddenly soft gaze.

Snape looked a final time at the boys, fear and honesty in their eyes, before sending them away. "Get out."

Ron and Harry only stared, shocked, for a moment, before scrambling for their bags and skittering away and out the door.

= = = = =

There stood brave Hermione, patiently waiting for them right outside the heavy iron door. She opened her mouth to speak, but Harry and Ron moved as one, each taking an arm and flanking their friend, pulling her away from the dungeons. Not far up the hallway stood Seamus, Dean, and Neville, awaiting the news, but Harry and Ron just kept moving. The six Gryffindors stopped upon reaching the main entrance hall, where it seemed nearly half the school stood in pairs and clumps and crowds, wondering what possible fate awaited the boys who'd been caught with THE Limerick.

Of course Draco and his cronies were there, looking quite tough, while some fellow Gryffindors nervously waited. Colin and Dennis approached them first, and friends and acquaintances wanting to know WHAT HAD HAPPENED soon surrounded them.

"Nothing, nothing happened," Harry managed breathlessly, still trying to make their way to the common room.

"Nothing?!"

"No points?"

"No detention?!"

"Nothing!"

"No, nothing!" Harry said again, and then much to everyone's surprise, he let go of Hermione and left his friends behind, before racing off up the stairs.

= = = = =

Harry sat brooding on his bed. He'd brushed off his friends' concern saying he needed a few moments alone to think, promising to meet them up for dinner later.

He didn't explain to them what was wrong, as he could barely put a finger on it himself, but that ridiculous poem that had floated through the school was tugging mercilessly as his conscience. He'd read the rest of it after Justin Finch-Fletchley gave him another copy, and he knew that it shouldn't be a big deal, that he should be rejoicing and laughing with the rest, but there was something not quite right: Snape's reaction. The odious man should have sentenced them to a five-hour detention, at the very least, with an even fifty points off to match; there was no accounting for the man's sudden dismissal.

Unless Harry cared to look closer, and that was what was frightening him. Why should he care? It wasn't as if the reputedly slimy Potions Master actually had feelings to be hurt. Harry knew only a bit of what the man had gone through, and this stupid thing should mean nothing to the man who had braved death eaters and Voldemort himself for years.

But it had. For some strange reason, this offensive little limerick had hit a sore spot, and Harry's natural empathy pained in response. Such a proud, strong man humbled by a ridiculous prank. And why?

Finally, Harry knew the answer, in a word: respect. Students feared him, loathed him, hated him; they didn't tease him, certainly not in his presence. And now he was the laughing stock of the school. This was nothing to Neville's boggart.

It was wrong. Harry knew just how he felt too: all those terrible rumors he'd faced in his time, and this of all on Valentine's Day!

Harry grumbled to himself before rolling determinedly out of bed to sit at his desk and set quill to parchment.

= = = = =

Snape sat in his quarters, rereading the damned thing. Again.

'This hell spawn teacher is great  
If you have no care for your fate.  
He'll chew down your soul,  
Make you drink potions whole  
And his sarcastic retorts are first rate.'

So this is the thanks he gets after years of service to the little brats. So be it.

= = = = =

Harry and his friends took their usual place at the Gryffindor dining table in the great hall. Everyone was present, but for a certain Potions Master, and few saw Dumbledore's worried glance to the empty seat before saying a few short words to open the holiday feast. "Another holiday, another reason to celebrate. And another reason to eat, eat, eat! Dig in!" Applause met this pronouncement and the meal began, nearly as grand as the Opening Feast. Laughter rang through the halls. A few brave students personally delivered some final hand-made valentines to friends and significant others. A small flock of owls swept down with their last bundles of flowers and gifts and anonymous notes to the students and staff at dinner.

Harry and his friends had all sent theirs out that morning, not wanting to wait.

A ways down the table, Seamus stood and cleared his throat, holding up his hands for silence. Several of his friends calmed down and turned to look at him. He spoke:

"'He hands out detentions at whim.  
At meals he's excessively grim.  
He haunts these walls  
And darkened halls  
With determined hatred, that's him!

Given the chance, he'd skin us alive  
If late to class we arrive.  
A heart of ice,  
A head of lice,  
From a fifty-foot tower he should dive!'"

Ron heartily joined in on the round of applause and shouting that followed Seamus' performance. Neville laughed as Hermione shook her head and continued eating. No one noticed Harry's pensive look and worried gaze that continually glanced to the staff table, to one empty seat in particular.

Not five minutes later, a door to the side opened, and Snape swept in, seating himself at the table without ado, and serving himself from the great platters. The professor spared not a glance to the student body, who alternately snickered and whispered at his sudden appearance. Dumbledore smiled and offered greetings, but Snape just glared. "Why Severus, where's your holiday spirit?" the headmaster laughingly asked.

Snape turned cold black eyes to the man and dryly quipped, "It's eloped to Spain with my sense of humor."

Snape ignored the rest of his surroundings from that point on, and dinner soon passed into dessert. The Potions Master declined the chocolate cake in favor of a wafer cookie when down from the cloudy night sky descended a mark of white. The white could soon be identified as a snowy owl that swooped down with the last delivery of the night, a plain brown envelope landing softly on the pink tablecloth before Professor Snape.

It seemed as though the whole hall silenced itself and stared in horror at the offending piece of mail. Who would dare? Who in their right mind? Why on earth would anyone send him ANYTHING on Valentine's Day? Especially THIS Valentine's Day?!

Snape's features warped into an expression of reserved shock, staring down at the simple note lying atop the red and white confetti. The thick parchment was blessedly plain and brown, but for the red heart covering the flap, sealing it. What sick joke was this? Hadn't they done enough?

But when he looked up, he saw Dumbledore's stern expression, and the Headmaster gestured for him to open it.

Open it?! Was the man out of his mind? Did he WANT people sent to the infirmary Valentine's Day evening?

But Snape could not ignore the man who raised bushy silver eyebrows, blue eyes sparkling questioningly at him. So, going against every instinct, every shred of sanity, Severus Snape reached forth a skeletal hand to violently rip open the envelope and remove the paper within. Unfolding it, a single blue crocus fell from within, magically charmed to live in stasis without water and sunlight, and uncrushed even after its journey. Then, he read the simple black handwriting on the white notepaper.

'Dear Professor Snape,

I don't want to anger you by wishing a Happy Valentine's Day to you, so I won't. All I have to say is this:

With all the hate and fear you inflict, Potions class is pretty rough;   
I know the cruelty of children and have faced it myself often enough.   
There was no call for this terrible joke, an offensive piece of trash,   
And I don't know what drove the author to something so cruel and rash.   
And despite what you my think of me and others in my House,   
I don't consider you to be a villain, demon, or louse.   
You are only human, though you may hide it well   
And there's no call to treat you like some reject from hell.   
I'd like to tell how important you are to at least a few of us,   
And I'd proclaim without restraint to all the world the truth. Thus:   
Severus Snape is a genius, in potions and equally in wit.   
The truth of it is, we do indeed fear the stubborn git.   
But there should be no need for calling wicked names   
Or pulling any other stupid pranks or childish games.   
For you see, this man has earned my respect,   
Yes, he's taught me a lot: to brew potions and to deflect,  
Deflect the hatred sent my way and stand up for myself;   
I've learned by his example and now he should do so himself.   
Don't let this infectious infraction taint your imposing image,   
And just so you know, sir, being your student's been a privilege.   
And I know I promised I wouldn't, but I'm saying it anyway,   
Thanks for teaching us all you know and Happy Valentine's Day.

Sincerely,  
Harry Potter'

Snape stared in awe at the little poem, and then read it again. There was nothing but sincerity here, for whatever reason. And though he wouldn't admit it to a soul, except perhaps for Dumbledore, this was the single most heartfelt and needed gift he'd ever received. With graceful hands, he refolded the note, but before he could tuck it away in the remaining shreds of the brown envelope, a wrinkled hand obscured his vision, reaching for the paper. "Severus, why don't you share, you sly thing? Who knew you had a secret admirer?" Dumbledore knowingly joked.

Snape's hand trembled as he let the paper pass to the other man, and Dumbledore quickly read the little poem, mmming and humming to himself as he went. "Nice, that's very nice, isn't it, Severus?" he asked, handing it back.

"Yes... yes, Albus," he agreed after a moment, accepting the poem and carefully tucking it away in a pocket. Then he stood, and daintily lifting the crocus from the tabletop, held it to his chest a moment to bravely signify anonymous acceptance of the gift before turning to stride purposefully away. He waltzed down the Slytherin table, sparing not a glance to any of them, and out the main doors.

Not a single soul saw Harry as he watched all this with wide hopeful eyes, his breath catching in his young throat at sudden, overwhelming comprehension.

= = = = =

The end.


End file.
